


Fever

by ShirleyCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fever, Flu, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Sherlock being ill and bored in bed, Sickfic, although he's feeling rather guilty about it, and John being a good doctor and taking care of all his needs ;), bottomlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have been a couple for a while, but they keep discovering new things about each other. Like that Sherlock can get extremely horny when he’s got a fever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, I’m still working on that long case-fic, but I wanted you to have some porn in the mean time. Enjoy. :)  
> I wrote this while I was poorly the other weekend. Don’t ask.
> 
> With many thanks again to my lovely, wonderful beta's [Mydogwatson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/), [Auburnrecluse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/auburnrecluse/) and [Redherring/Shirelockhomes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redherring/).

Sherlock had become rather bored with staring at the periodic table of the elements on his bedroom wall and playing the mental games with it he had invented to occupy himself. Initially, it had at least been a mildly interesting challenge to find prime numbers by matching pairs of atomic numbers – with the handicap that every calculation and idea seemingly had to wade its way into his brain through a thick, viscous liquid. Like snot. (It probably _was_ snot, he mused.)  
But he was tired of it now.  
Unfortunately, there was little else he could do without moving his head and drowning in the dizzying vortex that it caused.

He was hot, in every sense of the word. Not only his skin was relentlessly inflamed, but his prick definitely was as well. Every inch of him felt burning and... needy.  
But even rutting against the mattress would have been too much effort for his feverish muscles.

He was in the process of trying to find pornographic depictions in the shapes of the letter combinations inside the little coloured squares when his bedroom door opened to reveal a tray with tea, followed by John, who was carrying it.

John gently set the tray on the bedside table, looking down at Sherlock with a concerned frown.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock groaned. Never mind that he felt sweat sticking to his body all over and the room spun happily along with every eye-movement he made.

John let out a fondly disapproving grunt while he sat down on the bed next to him, and started to pour some tea.

“There’s something you don’t know about me yet, John,” Sherlock said with a slight slur, not moving from his position lying flat on his stomach.

“Oh? And what would that be?” John replied with a hint of curiosity.

“Whenever I’m in bed ill, I always get extremely randy,” Sherlock said rather cheerfully, his words partly muffled by his pillow.

John huffed.  
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said incredulously when Sherlock lamely extended one arm towards him. “We’re not…”

Sherlock started stroking John’s thigh, making his intentions even clearer.  
“Please John, _please_.” He didn’t care if he was whining like a small child.  
He wanted John, _needed_ John, with an overpowering intensity that was probably the result from his cerebral cortex being largely disabled – all the energy in his body going to the most vital organs only – , leaving the stage to his reptile brain with its primordial urges, which were now taking over his conscience.  
When there was no response, he retracted his hand and clumsily pushed his pyjama bottoms down to reveal his buttocks.

“Sherlock, seriously, I’m not...”

“ _Please_ John.” He knew begging took him far with John, and Sherlock was very much prepared to shamelessly and elaborately deploy this technique if it got him what he wanted.  
Well, _only_ with John, of course.  
(And almost exclusively related to sex, now that he came to think of it.)

Sherlock genuinely thought he couldn’t take it any longer. He had been half-hard the entire morning. Now he was rock-hard.

“Oh come on, you’re just...”

“I’m horny John. Come here and get your cock inside me.”

“You’ve got a fucking fever!” John objected, practically squealing.

“Yes,” Sherlock exclaimed wearily, “which I’ve been trying to tell you: it makes me horny. Now stop objecting and fuck me. _Please_.”  
He wriggled his bottom enticingly in front of John, which cost him more effort than it really should. Stupid flu.

Suddenly, he heard a belt open and a fly being unzipped, making Sherlock’s face fall into a satisfied smile.

“God, Sherlock, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever...”

“No it isn’t. Now will you just get on with it,” Sherlock retorted languidly as he blindly handed John the lube behind his back.  
The way John was apparently struggling to breathe normally was rather cute, Sherlock thought.

Soon after, he felt John’s firm hands on his arse cheeks, pulling them slightly apart, before John’s prick tenderly caressed the sensitive area around his entrance, spreading the lube around as he circled it. There were also some teasing fingers – must be thumbs, Sherlock thought – very lightly stroking that mystifying erogenous zone where his buttocks met his thighs, causing a local eruption of giddying goose bumps, accompanied by an impatient whimper involuntarily escaping Sherlock’s throat. He didn't want or need much foreplay and he hoped John could tell.  
When at last John steadily pushed in, Sherlock let out a deep groan of satisfaction.

The sensation of being filled with John’s hard cock took over all active parts of his brain, washing out the annoyingly incoherent foggy shreds of useless, random, dreamy images that had been unsolicitedly invading his mind. There was only John, wonderfully aroused John, _his_ John, making love to him because he’d asked him to.

Sherlock revelled in the cooling effect of John’s panting breaths on his sweaty back, that accompanied the restrained gasps that indicated that John was trying to hold back, trying to not quite let himself go because of Sherlock’s condition. It was obvious he was feeling guilty as hell for having given in to temptation, which amused Sherlock to no end. This was probably at odds with some oath he had taken.  
But there was something incredibly erotic about getting fucked – especially by a doctor – while his body was completely limp, just letting himself be pounded into the mattress without a single effort on his side. If it had been possible to become more aroused than he already was, he would have.

Normally the friction between his cock and the bed would not have been nearly enough to make him come, but with his erection throbbing excessively with heat along with the rest of him, Sherlock knew it wasn’t going to take much. (Which was a good thing, seeing as his arms were simply too weak to give himself a hand.) At least the little buggers raging through his body were compensating their detrimental effect in this one way.  
He was soon very close and he could tell that John was as well. It was the desperate noises that John was making that did him in. Sherlock managed to make it worse by mumbling “Bad doctor”, at which John let out an exquisite strangled moan and then Sherlock was there, making a mess on the sheets that were already clammy with perspiration anyway as John started slamming into him harder and deeper, groaning rather fiercely, and desperately whispering his name.

This was definitely one of their best shags so far.

When John had collapsed on top of him, which was usually a position he was happy to stay in for quite a while, he quickly jumped off again, muttering “Jesus, Sherlock, you’re as hot as an oven. God, we should never have done this.”

“Bad doctor,” Sherlock mumbled again with what he very well knew was a shit-eating grin on his face.

“ _You_...” was all John managed.

“I love you too, John. Love you,” Sherlock murmured before he drifted off again in a blissful fever- and sex-induced sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing and would like to get an alert when I post a new story, please go to [my AO3 profile](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton) and click 'subscribe' in the upper right corner. :)


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